I rock my head back onto the side of the truck, a cadence of sighs escaping my open mouth as I give myself over to Ben’s touch.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs before kissing my arched sternum.
Some of my past partners, mostly the male ones, called me perfect. But none of them uttered the words with the reverence and visceral sincerity that Ben does.
Wrapping my legs more tightly around him, I lift my head and catch his face in my hands. Our tongues explore each other’s mouths, tasting and nudging and needing.
And I think that Ben is wrong.
It’s not me that’s perfect.
It’s us.
The truth of this realization reverberates through my bones, along my nerves, and I give myself over to it — to him — like I never have in my life before.
Ben
When I lost Julie, it became scathingly clear early on that her death was an axis. There was before and there was after, and the after depended on whatever way life spun on the turning point that was her death. I was aware of this throughout her sickness and dying and my mourning of her. As much as I hated it, I believe that this awareness saved me from floundering in despair, which would have been so easy to do.
Being with Hattie feels much the same, except with reckless joy and pleasure instead of grief and sadness.
There was a before, and there will be an after, and the hinge that it all turns on is this moment as I push Hattie’s top up and palm her petite breasts.
I roll her nipple between my fingers, mouth on her neck. My erection speaks to me like it’s a separate entity, howling for more and more and more.
And even though my cock seems to have a life of its own, I want to give it everything it demands.
A detached part of my brain muses that it would be so much more chivalrous to take this young thing home, to romance her before taking all that she has to give me.
But all I can think about is joining my body with hers, here and now.
From the way she clutches at me with her athletic thighs, I’m not the only one who feels this way.
“God, I want you.” I whisper my words to her collarbone. She shivers against them, tiny goosebumps appearing where my breath washes over her skin. I nip at them with my teeth, earning myself a jagged groan.
“Then take me,” she rasps, eyes alight with challenge as they find mine. “I’m all yours.”
For all that I wanted to hear just that, her dare still takes me aback. “Here?” I ask, needing to be absolutely clear. “Now?”
Hattie finds her feet, digging in her pocket. “Here.” She finds her keys and unlocks the truck, never taking her gaze from mine. “Now.”
She opens the door and climbs into the bench seat that spreads behind the driver and front passenger seats. Tossing her keys to the floor, she slides to the far side of the bench and peels her shirt over her head, throwing it to the floor as well.
There’s no question, no hesitation.
I’m on her like a ravenous animal, all heat and teeth and touch and need. Some last shred of civility compels me to close and lock the door behind me, but then I am lost to my wanting.
No, that’s not quite right — I’m lost to our mutual desire.
Because Hattie’s right there with me, mewling and sucking, rolling her body beneath mine, our breath loud in my ears.
She sits up to divest me of my jacket and shirt, discarding them with hers. Then she presses her bare torso to mine and gently twists her fingers in the curls covering my chest. I shudder when she arches her hips up and presses her wide open thighs over my hardness. Her advances make my dick weep with both joy and unmet greed.
To distract myself, I shove my hand between us and press up into the jeans covering her crotch. Hattie gasps when I find her clit, withdrawing only to lever herself more firmly against my fingers.
She doesn’t last long before she pulls away, desperately grappling with the opening of her jeans. “More,” she pants as she pulls her denims off, swiftly sending her panties in their wake. “I need more.”
And then there she is, the woman who has cared for and championed my daughter more dearly than I’ve had any right to expect, fully naked before my eyes.
Fuck. I’m either a very lucky man or a very bad man.
Hoping to hell that I’m the former, I dive between her thighs face first. Hattie’s upper back hits the window with a soft thud that’s nearly drowned out by the noises I’m pulling from her throat with my tongue. I drink in her musky scent like a man drowning as I burrow through her down to gain unadulterated access to her most sensitive nub.
I find her clit and take it carefully between my teeth. I roll and tug on it, my hands clamping her hips to the seat as her pelvis bucks in response. Her breath shreds as I release her nub and lick and swirl my tongue over it, my cock singing in my pants as I bring her higher and higher.
She lifts her hips from the seat in spite of all the power I’m putting into holding her in place, and then she shatters.
Her orgasm is loud and long, and the sweetest goddamn music to my ears. I can feel her labia opening and clamping beneath my mouth, clit pulsing in time with them. Her fingers find my hair, tangling in it while she pushes my face harder into her opening.
If I thought I was aroused and ready before, that was nothing compared to how driving Hattie to the frenzied peak of orgasm makes me feel. My balls are wound tight, quivering with the need for release, sweat pooling between my shoulder blades. My heart is a storm, and my dick demands to be released from its prison.
So when Hattie’s body steadies and her hands fumble at my belt, setting my manhood free, and her mouth forms the word, “More,” I pounce on her with a roar I did not know I was capable of.
I kick off my pants and boxers, needing nothing between our bodies. I push her onto her back, align my impatient shaft with her sopping opening and, with a growl, make two become one.
Hattie
I’ve had sex in this truck more times than I can count.
But it’s never felt like this — like Ben is putting every wrong that’s in me back to rights.
When he buries himself in me, both of us voicing coarse cries as one, it’s not just a physical ache he meets. The sensation of his hardness thrusting into me reaches up into my core and skips from rib to rib before finding its way to my heart.
I feel like he’s touching my soul.
And before this moment, I didn’t even know if I believed in souls.
Ben makes me an ardent believer in everything that is sweat and heat and touch and him. I am an acolyte of the exquisite shattering of my heart to allow him to enter where no grown man has before.
His fingers find the vulnerable expanse of my throat, tracing the ridged path of my windpipe with a touch that’s as gentle as it is possessive.
I claim you, his touch tells me. Let me care for you.
I come, harder and faster than ever before, crying out while twin tears trail from my eyes.
He notices, freezing. “Are you okay?” He’s breathless from our love-making, voice hoarse with passion, but the concern in his eyes is genuine.
I gulp air and nod, finding words suddenly difficult.
Still embedded in my velvet tunnel, he reaches for my face and wipes the two tears away. “You’re crying.” He tastes my tears, closing his eyes to relish them, then opens them again to look at me sternly. “Tell me why?”